Chapter 3: Frosted Lies and Broken Promises

I’d told myself long ago—I wouldn’t get angry for Carter, or get sad because of him.

It was a promise I repeated every night, like a prayer. Carter had taken enough from me; I refused to give him my tears, too.

And I definitely wouldn’t fight with other women over him. Ever.

There was no dignity in fighting over scraps. I deserved better, even if I had to remind myself of that every day.

He’s not worth it.

I repeated it in my head, a silent mantra. He’s not worth it. Not anymore.

Lily lost her balance as she was pulled away, fell, and dropped the teacup in her hand. The broken porcelain cut her palm deeply, blood spilling across the floor—the smell of iron sharp in the air.

The crash echoed through the office, followed by Lily’s sharp cry. Blood pooled on the tile, stark against the white floor. People rushed over, but no one seemed to know what to do.

Carter saw Lily’s injury through the glass wall of the conference room.

His eyes widened, face darkening as he took in the scene. Without a word, he shoved his chair back and stormed out, his presence filling the room like a thundercloud.

With everyone watching, he tossed his papers, rushed out, and scooped Lily into his arms.

He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. He knelt beside her, hands gentle as he cradled her bleeding hand. The whole office watched, silent and tense.

He barked, "Who the hell hurt her?"

His voice was icy, cutting through the murmurs. People shrank back, afraid to meet his gaze.

The only kind coworker there stepped back, face pale with fear.

She stammered an apology, eyes wide. The room was thick with accusation, everyone waiting for someone to take the blame.

I sneered and said, "I did. She deserved it."

My words were cold, deliberate. I wanted him to look at me, to see the anger he’d stirred up. The room went silent, all eyes on us.

Lily glared at me with tears in her eyes and cried out, "Yes, I deserve it! Who told me to fall in love with someone I shouldn’t, to be called a mistress and a kept woman."

Her voice broke, the tears real this time. She played the victim so well it almost fooled me. She sobbed, voice trembling.

"But Mr. Whitman, as long as you love me, I want to stay by your side forever. No one can separate us."

She clung to his arm, her voice trembling with emotion. The scene was almost theatrical, but Carter seemed to eat it up. What a speech.

She cried so sweetly that even her over-the-top words sounded brave and determined.

People around us looked moved, some even dabbing at their eyes. Lily had a way of making her pain look noble, as if loving Carter was some kind of heroic act.

Carter was amused, wiped her tears, and coaxed her, "Hey, hey. Look at you—crying like a little kitten."

He brushed her hair back, voice soft and low. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen in years, and it stung to realize it was reserved for someone else now. He dabbed her hand with gauze, practical and gentle.

He really was different with her.

I lowered my eyes, too tired to watch, and just said to Carter, "For my birthday this year, I want $50,000. I need it."

My voice was flat, businesslike. I didn’t care who heard me. The money was all I needed from him now.

Funny, we were husband and wife, but we didn’t even have each other’s numbers.

It was almost absurd. In a world where everyone was connected, we were strangers living under the same roof. I didn’t even have his number saved in my phone.

Except for asking for money, I never reached out first.

It was a rule I’d set for myself. No late-night texts, no desperate calls. Just money—clean, simple, transactional.

Before marriage, we agreed: he wanted my body, I wanted his money. No romance. No promises.

It was a deal, plain and simple. Just needs, met in the easiest way possible.

Carter always hated that I was a gold digger.

He’d throw it in my face whenever he could, as if it made him feel better about the things he did. But I stopped caring a long time ago.

But before, whenever I asked, no matter how much, he would always give it to me—never less—sometimes more.

He’d send the money without a word, sometimes rounding up, sometimes doubling the amount. It was his way of keeping score, of reminding me who held the power.

But this time, he looked at me with a cold smile and said slowly, "You want money? Fine." Right there in front of everyone.

His tone was different, sharper. I felt a chill run down my spine.

"But, Rachel, first swallow your pride and apologize to Lily."

He wanted me to beg, to humiliate myself in front of everyone. The power play was obvious, and it made my stomach turn.

Carter wanted to use money to buy my dignity—to buy an apology for Lily.

This was the first time he used money to humiliate me on her behalf.

The realization stung, more than I expected. I’d thought I was numb to his games, but this was a new low.

I slowly clenched my fists and forced a smile, jaw aching, nails digging into my palm.

My knuckles turned white, nails digging into my palms. I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to cry.

Forcing myself to endure the spike of pain in my body, I turned and left.